First blow to the head.
The gay boys scream and rush to defend me.
Second blow to the head.
I catch a glimpse of Adelina with a disturbed look on her face.
“You want to be a man? Hit me back!”
I throw a weak punch that barely connects.
Third blow to the head.
The tallest of the gay boys punches the drunk guy before my world blacks out. They turned out to be my heroes in all of this. When I hit the floor in my mind’s eye, my body jumps in the physical.
BOYS DON’T CRY
Home becomes a prison as my bruises heal. Adelina has called me so many times that I’ve turned my phone off. Every couple of hours, the house line rings. Mami tells whoever is on the other end that I’m not home. By Thursday of the following week, all the swelling has gone down. The black-and-blues are now lavender and yellow. Marco has given me the green light to go back to work on Monday. Makeup will have to cover any remaining evidence of the assault.
I throw on a hat and sunglasses for a bike ride into the city and back, making it as far as 110th Street and Central Park on the hood side. The landscape is a perfect mix of New York City’s grit and the natural elements we co-exist with.
A group of badass kids run by me, holding a turtle they’ve pulled out of the lake. I’m worried for the little guy. It could go a couple of different ways. They either want him as a pet, an experiment, or somebody’s momma is about to make some soup.
When I return home hours later, Adelina is sitting on the front steps of the house.
“Hi.” she greets me humbly as I walk my bike into the yard.
“Hey.”
“Your face... take your shades off.”
“I don’t want to. What are you even doing here?”
“Hello, I’ve been calling like a maniac. I’m only here because you haven’t answered, and your mother demanded I stop calling. Why are you avoiding me?”
“Why do you think I would be ignoring you? Any idea at all? Like, maybe leaving me alone at the hospital after someone attacked me?”
Seeing Adelina brings back all the anger from that day. It takes everything inside of me to not go off on her. The only reason I was even on that platform was because of her. Maybe if she would’ve worn flats like a regular person, we would’ve still been with my friends.
“I’ve never been through anything like that, Sol. I didn’t know what to do.”
“I’ve never been through anything like that, either.” I interrupt. “It felt so fucked up when I realized you weren’t there.”
“I couldn’t see you like that. And at least I called Sammy to come to the hospital before leaving.”
It hurts to have my hands pressed against my face, but I don’t want her to see the tears starting to form.
“I need time to myself. I’m not done healing physically, and still need to get over what you did to me. I would never abandon you like that.”
“I understand, baby. Call me if you need anything. I love you, don’t forget that.”
A small part of me wants to reciprocate her, “I love you,” but I’m too angry.
Papi is right where I left him watching TV.
“Hi, muñeca. Did you see that girl? She came looking for you.”
“Yeah, I saw her, Pa. Thanks.”
“Oh, okay.” he drops the topic. “Your face is looking better.”
“Yeah, if you think gremlins are cute.”
“You’re in luck. I do think gremlins are cute.”
Papi’s watching one of his old-school movies. He’s down for anything that has fight scenes and explosions. I’m convinced he thinks Clint Eastwood is his spirit animal. Despite being exhausted, I decide to stay downstairs and watch the movie with him. My resistance doesn’t last long before sleep comes for me. When my father wakes me up with a nudge, I can’t tell how much time has passed, but the movie has ended, and the TV isn’t on anymore. He’s holding the house phone in one hand and covering the mouthpiece with the other.
“It’s Adelina,” he whispers.
I shake my head, but he passes the phone anyway.
“Hello?”
“Hi, my love,” she greets me like everything is okay between us. “I just wanted to let you know I got home safe. And it was really good to see you today. I hope we can get past this and makeup soon.”
Hearing her voice in this half-asleep state brings down my guard. Silence is now my only armor against the sweet words. I don’t want her to know they’re working.
“I’m staying in tonight,” she continues. “I’m going to watch Boys Don’t Cry with my sister.”
The thing I miss most is staying up late watching movies together. Throughout our relationship, she has put me on to a whole list of classics. I’ve never cried watching a film until I met Adelina.
“Okay, enjoy.” I keep it short and conceal my vulnerability.
“Call me, if anything,” she adds. “I’ll keep the phone next to me all night.”
“Okay.” I drop the call before she can say anything else.
Papi has now retreated to whatever project he’s working on downstairs. The living room is dark, except for the light coming from his workstation. A headache pounds away at my brain – a constant since that violent encounter. I take a warm bath and go to bed.
The only dreams I can remember now are haunted ones. Tonight’s nightmares are filled with images of Adelina riding past me on a bicycle. She’s dressed in one of her favorite outfits from TLC. The location changes. My attacker sits next to me at a bar. His hand is on my leg as he leans in for a kiss. A beer bottle nearby becomes my weapon as I smash his head with all of my force. He laughs at my weakness as my swing barely hits. Women dancing half-naked on the bar are now the gay boys dressed in drag with distorted faces.
The blue glow off my screen reads 3:33 a.m. as I jump out of my sleep. The summer heat has me drenched in sweat. Someone in the neighborhood is blasting old freestyle songs out of their apartment window. This is a summer ritual in The Bronx. These electronic love songs are like a time warp that Latinos in the tri-state area seem to have gotten stuck in during the 80s and 90s. We will proudly sing our hearts out to these tracks while dipping and weaving our heads, doing “the wop,” and pretending to be in music videos.
I rest my head back on the pillow as the song Without You by George Lamond plays next. The lyrics make me think of Adelina. In a moment of hopeless romanticism, I decide to call her back.
“Hello,” she whispers, half asleep.
“Sorry. I thought you were still up.”
“It’s okay. Is everything good?”
Silence again. There’s so much to say, but I can’t find the right words for all the things I’m feeling.
“Nothing... I just, I miss you.” I finally admit.
“I miss you too. So much.”
“And you suck, but I want things to go back to normal between us,” I add.
“Me too, baby. I’m sorry. I prom–”
“Can we not talk about it anymore? I want to forget this ever happened.” I cut her off, “How was the movie?”
“It was insane. You have to watch it.”
“What’s it called again?”
“Boys Don’t Cry. It’s about this woman who feels like she was born the wrong gender. She goes around passing as a man, and people believe her.” Adelina explains.
“Okay, so she’s transgender. There are dancers at Krash that are trans.”
“I was thinking about how cool it would be if you did that,” she says. “You could definitely pass for a guy. Oh my God, that would be such a turn-on.”
“A turn-on? Pretending to be a guy? That’s what does it for you?”
Adelina explains her logic further.
“You wouldn’t have to pretend to be anyth
ing. You already look like a dude. All you have to do is hide your breasts and go by a different name. In the movie, she wrapped hers with an elastic bandage and looked completely flat-chested.”
“But I don’t want to pass as a guy. People that do are embarrassed or disgusted over their unwanted body parts. In their minds, they were born the wrong gender. I don’t feel that way. I like my breasts, and I’m perfectly content with being a woman.”
Adelina continues trying to explain why it’s a good idea. I watch the shadows of cars drive by on my walls as I listen to her.
“It would help us draw less attention. People would think we’re a normal couple, and these stupid guys wouldn’t bother us as much.”
The catcalls and street harassment have gotten worse since the nicer weather came around. Anytime we’re out and about, we have random guys trying to get her attention. Most of the time, they pretend not to see me. If they’re the aggressive type, they become confrontational and assure us it’s because she needs “some real dick in her life” while grilling me up and down. It does something to an insecure man’s spirit when he sees an attractive woman dating another woman. If it’s two femmes, the male usually wants to get all up in it. He needs the validation that these two women are incomplete without him to balance the scales.
If the other person is not a femme, though – like, a butch or any derivative of a non-feminine woman or non-binary. Forget it. Said male will seek concession by demanding they prove their masculinity or bow down to his.
“So, all you want is for me to hide my breasts?”
“Yes! It would still be you, right? The person I love and adore. It would be us in our own little bubble.”
“My mother is going to lose her mind if she finds out about this.”
“She doesn’t have to. If you wear bigger shirts, it’s hard to tell.”
Adelina is bursting at the seams. I can hear the stitches popping in her voice.
“All right, I’ll try. If it means getting less attention and problems, I’m down for that.”
“Really?” she shrieks. “I have the perfect name picked out, too… Tyler!”
“Wait, I have to go by a different name? You didn’t say anything about that.”
“Yes, I did. And, of course, you do. That’s how it was in the movie. Her birth name was Teena Brandon, but she switched it to Brandon Teena to make it manly. Solei and Sol are too girly, and I don’t like the sound of Romero. It’s too close to Romeo, and that would sound corny. I like Tyler better.”
“Tyler sounds mad white, though.”
“A name like that makes you sound like a skater boy. You already dress grunge. Your hair is blonde. It’s perfect.” She drops her voice, “Tyler Love, the love of my life.”
All I can do is laugh at her master plan.
“And this is how you solve our problems? From crazy Hollywood movies?”
“It’s based on a true story. She really lived like that.”
“He lived like that.” I correct.
“You know what I mean. Anyway, this story got all this attention because some guys found out the truth, and they killed him.”
“Are you kidding me right now? Isn’t that a huge red flag on why it’s not a good idea?”
“Okay, but that was the Midwest. Those people are nuts. We live in the most progressive city in the world. It’s different here.”
“Yeah? Tell that to the guy that beat me up.”
“Perfect example. If you were Tyler, your breasts wouldn’t have triggered him.”
She’s kind of right. That is what set him off. Realizing I’m a girl always triggers them. If they thought I was a guy, I’d get more respect. They definitely wouldn’t try to talk to my girl right in front of my face. I try imagining myself living like this in the real world. What was it like for Brandon Teena? Did anyone ever notice something different but couldn’t quite put their finger on it? I mean, it wouldn’t be that far of a stretch for me. I’ve always been a tomboy. Growing up, I wanted to be just like my brother, Kelvin. I would borrow his baggy jeans for dress-down days at school. Mami always bought mine too tight around the hips. I didn’t like the attention they drew from older men lurking outside the bodega.
“All right, I’ll be your boyfriend. Under one condition, though. You’re going to have to do some things in return.”
She jumps at the offer.
“Deal. This is going to make everything better. Watch.”
After the initial rush of our newly formed pact, there isn’t much else to talk about. An awkward silence infiltrates the call. We end it before it gets worse.
“Sweet dreams, my Tyler Love. Talk to you tomorrow. I love you.” Adelina pierces a juicy kiss through the phone.
“I love you, too.”
It takes another couple of days before the swelling and bruises heal up. I can now open both eyes. A small gash above my right eyelid is starting to seal under a scab. I have no plans, but restlessness inspires me out of the house. My first stop is the pharmacy on 3rd Avenue. That is where most of us in the neighborhood go for spontaneous last-minute shopping. The security guard eyes me as I walk in. He’s telepathically letting me know that I’m being watched. Each aisle gets a quick scan until I finally find what I’m looking for – bandages. The largest size meant for leg injuries makes the most sense. I pick up a copy of Adelina’s favorite fashion magazine and chocolates at the counter. My next stop is the sporting goods store, where I buy a Yankees fitted cap. On the way back home, I call Adelina.
“Hey, beautiful. It’s your lover boy. Can I see you today?”
“Hold on. She’s using the bathroom.” her sister Betty sighs.
I deepen my voice to sound more masculine.
“Tell her it’s Tyler.”
The music in the background gets louder, then lowers as her sister opens the door.
“Some girl named Tyler wants to see you, beautiful.” she teases.
“Shut up.”
The door slams.
“Hi, baby.”
“Hey, can I see you today?” I repeat to the right person.
“Of course, where are we meeting?”
“Washington Square Park in two hours.”
“Done and done. See you there.”
Even though our conversation is brief, it’s enough to pull me out of hibernation and go out into the world again. We’ve been so distant since the pride parade. I miss talking and laughing, and I especially miss kissing her. Mirrored closet doors in my bedroom reflect a newly emerging persona. First, the shirt comes off, then the tank top, and finally, my sports bra. The elasticity in the bandage starts to mask the femininity. I pull tighter, making sure they flatten as much as possible. I can barely breathe by the time they’re fully wrapped.
The Velcro makes a crunching sound as it fights to keep its ends together. There’s instant comfort when it’s loosened for me to try again, this time stretching the fabric way less for a better fit, but it’s still very constricting. The tank top and shirt go back on while I study myself in the mirror, hardening my face to avoid exposing any tenderness. The Yankees cap fits perfectly – brim pulled down to shadow my eyes, squared up jawline, tightened abs, and a widening in my shoulders to take up more space. Adelina’s going to love this.
Leaving home makes me feel like a fugitive on the run, while avoiding anyone that knows my family. This great escape from home and hood leads me to one of the most eclectic spaces in Manhattan; Washington Square Park. This is where performers, artists, activists, skateboarders, NYU students, chess players, Yogis, Hare Krishnas, and undercover cops claim their land.
Two girls walk by me.
“Did you see that cute boy?”
One of them blurts out and turns around to make eye contact. They speed walk away in giggles and girl talk. Adelina scans the park near the benches we usually meet each other
at. She doesn’t recognize me sitting right in front of her and continues walking.
“Psst.”
She doesn’t look. I try again. This time more assertive.
“Sol?”
“Nope, Tyler.”
“Holy shit! You look way more like a boy than I thought you would. Except you look like you haven’t hit puberty yet!” she sits on my lap and kisses me all over my face. “You are so handsome.”
“Okay, now it’s my turn.”
We cut through the crowd and into a department store on Broadway. Adelina follows as I pick a few styles she would look killer in. When no one is looking, we lock ourselves into a fitting room towards the back where gigantic speakers are booming techno music. Adelina performs a striptease while modeling a dress for me. One by one, the outfits bring new levels of sexual tension. Each time an article of clothing is removed, she deliberately bends over with my face aligned just right until her G-string gets pulled off and slipped it into my pocket.
“Oh, it’s like that?” she smiles.
“Yup, it’s exactly like that.”
Adelina takes my hat off and pushes my face into the sweet scent between her legs. The dress falls over my head, creating a vortex where this fitting room is the only place in the world. She lets out a moan. Someone outside of the room chuckles, then low voices gossip to each other.
“Excuse me. The line is getting long out here.” A woman knocks on the door.
“Almost done, be right out.” Adelina regains her composure.
The whispers continue. When we step out, everyone that is waiting is posted up like judge and jury. An employee folding clothes rolls her eyes at me.
“Hello, this is the women’s fitting room, you little pervert. That’s probably why your face got lumped up, huh?”
I say nothing. It’s better to let her think I’m some horny teenage boy than a fully grown, naughty lesbian. We practically run out of the store before anyone else says something.
Identity Interrupted Page 10